The Return
by Generation Extant
Summary: A quiet trip to celebrate the Doctor's 1,000th birthday turns deadly with the resurrection of the Doctor's oldest enemy. (This story was originally published from October 2 - November 18, 2006 at Generation Extant dot com.)


(This story was originally published from October 2 - November 18, 2006.)

The sun was shining brightly among homey cottages as the TARDIS made a cozy landing amidst two small wooded shacks. Blacksmiths, pig roasters, jewelers, alchemists and other various little shops dotted the clearing, a guild of Renaissance artisans. A gentle late summer's breeze ruffled the surrounding foliage in a welcoming salute to the materialising trans-dimensional police box. It was a cool day for summer, a perfect day for holiday, which was exactly what the Doctor and his companions had in mind.  
The Doctor was the first to emerge, dressed as usual in his brown tweed jacket, tan overcoat, tweed Windsor cap and khaki slacks. He stuffed a few items into the numerous pockets of his tan vest and buttoned up the affair, quickly followed by the jacket. He allowed the overcoat to flap dramatically in the whipping breeze as he tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and inhaled deeply.  
"Ah!" He exclaimed, relishing the fresh air, "The English Renaissance! Such a time of progress for Merry Old England! Lizzie's on the throne, Willy's at the desk, and the Globe's running two shows a day!" He inhaled and exhaled deeply once more, then turned back to shout into the TARDIS.  
"Javis! Colleen! Mr. Garamond! Get a move on! The rate you're moving we'll be dead of the plague in '66 before we get to the shops!"  
One by one, the companions exited the amazing little blue box. First came Javis Nine, of New Earth, resplendent in a minimalist, if still very flattering, gown of ebony. Next came Colleen Ciradh, a red-haired peasant of Black 47 in a ensemble of kelly green, companion to her flashing eyes. Last came Dr. Russell Garamond of London proper, originally of Chicago, USA. London's finest expatriate surgeon, Russell was dressed the part of an old English Lord, complete with polished walking stick and high, feathered hat. All three looked a pretty picture, whereas the Doctor looked practically garish in comparison.  
Russell stepped forward, still a bit uncomfortable in his breeches, "Doctor, why is it that we're the ones always dressed up? How come you never change?"  
The Doctor emitted a small chuckle, rocked back on his heels and replied, "My dear boy, if my clothing is the first thing people are noticing that's…off about me, I'm not doing my job!" He added a wink and did an abrupt about-face.  
"Besides, don't I just look resplendent in ANY time period?"  
He struck a few poses to illustrate his point, emitting giggles from the girls and an exasperated groan from Russell. During one of his exhibitions, the Doctor stuck his chin high as if to look noble, as was taken aback by what he saw unfurled over the roof of the TARDIS. All three of his companions did a likewise turn, but were not nearly as surprised as he was. Written on a canvas banner, in gaily colored paint, was the word "PRIVIES." Russell noted as he looked about that the TARDIS could have easily passed for a portable toilet along with the other wooden boxes in the row. The Doctor, however, was not so upset at the sign's words as its existence itself. He whirled around, hand stroking his Van Dyke feverishly, suddenly taking it in.  
"No…no…no no no…something is not right…this isn't the Renaissance…this isn't even England!" He stood tapping his foot impatiently in the earth, as if he was chiding himself for not knowing the answer immediately. With a start, he shot bolt upright with a click of his fingers.  
"Ha! The readout! The TARDIS destination readout! I was so busy revelling that I must have set the wrong coordinates! This isn't the Renaissance, it's the Renaissance Faire! But when…WHEN?!"  
He quickly split his companions and made to rush back into the TARDIS. Suddenly checking himself, he stopped a hairsbreadth from the door, and turned to Javis. Javis nodded and gave a spirited laugh, which the Doctor took to mean that the door was still unlocked. He exploded inside with a great deal of bombast, muttering and clattering around the center console.  
Meanwhile, Javis, Russell and Colleen stood outside the box, listening and chuckling at the din from within.  
"How can someone so brilliant, a genius who saves the universe on a daily basis…be such a spaz?" Russell shook his head and chuckled.  
Javis joined him in a laugh as they leaned against the TARDIS exterior, but Colleen looked perplexed.  
"Excuse me," she ventured quietly, "but what do ye mean by 'spaz,' Russell?"  
Russell smiled. He always liked the way Colleen said his name, almost like Roossell.  
"Well, Colleen, a spaz is–"  
He was cut off by the Doctor bursting back out of the TARDIS, his bombast unwavering. Taking a break from his personal muttering, he turned to address Colleen.  
"Spaz, Colleen, twentieth century American colloquial slang, meaning a slightly abnormal individual, often prone to frenetic fits. A nerd, a dork, a freak, a geek, an dweeb!"  
He winked at Russell, who blushed slightly in embarassment. Javis, never the one to be embarassed, continued laughing, though louder and more hearty.  
"Well," The Doctor began, "it appears as if my rickety old box still has a few frenetic fits of its own to work out. Just a simple mix-up in the coordinating syncronisers, used to happen all the time…" he paused for a moment to put his hand to his chin in thought, "although it hasn't happened for some time…"  
He dismissed it quickly. "Well, no matter, all. We're still dressed for the occasion, so why don't we enjoy some ersatz-Elizabethan entertainment? What would you prefer, a turkey leg that hasn't been discovered yet or a Pepsi-Cola that would encite a riot in the time of Tudor?" He grinned devilishly and took Colleen's arm. Russell did likewise with Javis and they started to make their way to the anachronistic shops and stalls. They had barely gotten four feet when a garish jester carthweeled into their path, springing up with a demonic grin and forcing the Doctor to recoil with a noise of strangled terror.  
"Doctor, are you all right?" Colleen grasped his arm tightly.  
The Doctor regained his composure, twirling a moustachio haughtily. He took a breath and turned to Colleen, "I had a bad experience with clowns once, sorry."  
He turned to the ridiculous jester, doffing his cap in salute, "Good morrow, sir. How does the morning find you?"  
"Good morrow to you, wearer of brown and burgundy!" The jester replied with a deep bow, "What say you, is it not a glorious day?"  
"Something like that, yes…" The Doctor mused, "pray tell me, where exactly is this?"  
"Why, you're in England, sir! The Queen Elizabeth reigns, God Save the Queen!"  
Four more people, dressed just as ridiculous and in the surrounding area, suddenly responded to the jester's exclamation with an identical one. All of this pretense and ridiculous posturing was beginning to frustrate Russell, he stuck his head over the Doctor's shoulder and adopted a very serious tone.  
"Very cute, pal. Let's lose the act. Seriously, where are we?"  
The jester continued to smile maniacally for a few moments, until he realized that they were all serious. The smile soon faded from his painted face, and he adopted a much more confidential tone.  
"You folks from administration? Tryin' to get me to break character? Tryin' to get me fired?"  
"Oh, we wouldn' dream o' it," Colleen said with a smile.  
"Ha, says the chick with the flawless Irish accent!" The jester jabbed in her direction with his index finger.  
"Come on, Pennywise," Russell rolled his eyes, "just tell us…where are we?"  
"Crimony, you guys are aggravating!" He took another cautious look around, before whispering again confidentially, "you're in San Fransisco."  
"Ah, San Fransisco! Lovely town, lots of memories!" The Doctor beamed, "and the year?"  
The jester looked at him as if lobsters had crawled out of his ears. With a hefty sigh, he humoured him.  
"2001."  
The Doctor took a look around, as if seeing an old friend. "Ah! Two Thousand and One in the United States of America! Let me guess, it's…September?"  
"August. But a little cold, yeah." the jester looked about, still a bit nervous.  
The Doctor shook him warmly by the hand. "Well, mister–?"  
"Name's Paul."  
"Paul, lovely name, saintly name… well, Paul, thank you very much, and I will be back later to reward you for your theatrics, tumbling, and whatnot."  
The jester was suddenly back in character. "A Thousand thanks to you, good sir, and may the good Lord above bless you, yours, and your… large blue box… amazing, really, such an interesting box…"  
Paul suddenly seemed to pass into a trance. His mouth hung open, his eyes glazed over, as if he was transfixed by the TARDIS. The Doctor, feeling uncomfortable, broke Paul's line of sight and shooed him away. Once gone, Paul was his regular self again, and went hanspringing off down the lane. The Doctor, however, was by no means ready to perform calesthenics.  
"Hmmm…interesting…" The Doctor found himself yet again lost in thought. His rumination was cut short, however, by a worried Russell.  
"Doctor?"  
"Hm? Yes, Mr. Garamond?"  
"Doctor, it's August of 2001."  
"Yes."  
"Late August, if the weather is any indication."  
"Hmm."  
"In America."  
The Doctor's head drooped ever so slightly.  
"Yes."  
"You know what's going to happen in a few weeks, don't you?"  
"Yes."  
Russell was beginning to fluster.  
"Well?!"  
"It will be a tragedy, Mr. Garamond, but it must happen. Sadly, that was not the work of some psychotic alien force, but rather man's inhumanity to man. The real inhumanity, however… will be in what follows…"  
The Doctor blinked hard, but then managed to put it behind him, as he has done so many other times.  
"But let's not sit about wondering why we can't change what must happen, let's try to enjoy ourselves! It may not be the real English Renaissance, but at least it's a bit more…sanitary. Speaking of which…"  
He turned his sonic screwdriver to the TARDIS, and a semi-transparent bubble blinked into existence around the box, and was gone.  
"Force field, Doctor?" Javis smiled.  
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have an unfortunate case of mistaken identity around all of these porta-loos!"  
Just at that moment, a particularly uncomfortable man came bounding up to the "Privies" in search or relief. The minute he approached the TARDIS, he was gently buffeted onto his bottom, where he sat blinking momentarily. Then, suddenly his urgent need again, he bounded into the next closest portable toilet. This display was greeted with general merriment from the TARDIS crew as they headed off to enjoy the Faire. However, as they enjoyed the surroundings, it was apparent someone else was enjoying the TARDIS.  
Paul was compelled to return to the blue box. He knew not why, he knew not how. At this point, he knew nothing, he was merely a puppet, a tool to be used. As he approached the TARDIS, the force field blinked away and out, allowing the jester to reach the surface of the time machine. Suddenly, before his dull, unseeing eyes, it appeared as if the paint on the TARDIS was bubbling. In his last act on this earth, the entranced Paul placed his hand upon the bubbling liquid and it soon found its way into his skin, his blood, into his very body. His eyes suddenly turned from brown to yellow, a harbinger of a long lost ailment, the final proclaimer that the takover was complete. He was Paul no more.  
This new creature looked up at the slowly darkening sky, savoring the picked up chilly breeze as it rolled through the Faire grounds. A crooked, evil smile lit up the garishly painted face of a jester turned into the ultimate evil.  
"I live again."

The rest of the day was passed in faux-authentic Elizabethan wonder and, for a crew who was used to battling intergalactic enemies and megalomaniacal psychopaths, it was fairly uneventful. Finally, the curiosity got to Russell, and after a stop at the Fish 'n' Chips stand, he approached the Doctor.  
"Doctor?"  
"Mm? Yes?" The Doctor muttered around a malt vinegar infused potato.  
"I'm not complaining, mind you," Russell began, "but why are we on holiday? It seems like we're always fighting someone or saving something, so why a day at the Faire?"  
"Well, Mr. Garamond," he beckoned for him to come closer as Javis and Colleen stopped by a Celtic jewelry booth, "don't go spreading this about, but I'm one thousand years old."  
Russell looked puzzled. He'd heard the Doctor refer to himself as in the 900s for a while now, he wondered what made this so different.  
"Today," the Doctor bit into a piece of fish, "I'm one thousand today."  
"You mean…it's your birthday?!"  
"Well, yes…although I wouldn't exactly call it a birth…"  
Russell's eyes shone with admiration. "But still! Happy, uh, whatever-day, Doctor!" He looked up to the sky in amazement, "Wow, one thousand years! That's phenomenal, really!"  
"I suppose for you it's something else, but for us Time Lords it's fairly normal. Some of our greatests go a thousand years on one lifetime, I've regenerated eleven times already… I seem to be so careless about my personal well-being, eh?"  
"And we thank you for it every day, Doctor," Russell smiled back, then was quickly shushed as the girls returned.  
"Look, Doctor!" Colleen beamed, holding up a charm on a chain, "It's the ol' Irish sign fer eternity!"  
"How apropos," the Doctor mused, shooting a quick grin to Russell, "thank you very much, Colleen dear. Remind me to get you some of that nice Forlean perfume the next time we're in the Salvis nebula. Fantastic chemists, the Forleans, they create the finest scents in the universe only as a side hobby! And their fortified wines–!"  
He was cut short once again by Paul, the bounding jester. Only this time, he wasn't anywhere near as jovial, nor in character. His eyes had a jaundiced, yellow tint, and his face registered little more than cold, calm indifference.  
"Hello, Theta Sigma," The jester smiled as a spider smiles before it feasts. The Doctor has only a moment to widen his eyes with horror before it was too late. With a quick flick of his arm, a shot of strange, yellow powder flew into the Doctor's face, causing him to reel and fall backwards into the arms of his companions. The jester, apparently satisfied with his task, set about explaining his plan.  
"Carry him back to the TARDIS, if you please. I will follow and we will all depart shortly, I have… business to attend to."  
"What have you done, Paul?!" Russell snarled, leaping for the jester. The jester threw his hand up in retaliation and warning.  
"Do you want a shot of it too, human? Becuase I guarantee it will kill a lower lifeform like yourself. And second, I am no longer Paul. I am…someone else…"  
"You son of a–!" Javis' educated hands had curled into a familiar fists, but Russell halted her.  
"We've got no choice, Javis. There might still be a chance to help the Doctor."  
"Indeed, I fully intend for you to nurse him back to health," the jester chuckled, "the original brunt was merely to immobilise him as to avoid… wheedling the TARDIS out of him. Now off we go, off we go.."  
Between the three of them, they transported the Doctor back into the TARDIS, the jester leading the way. Javis, who had the Doctor's left shoulder, began to grumble.  
"I don't like this, Russell. I just don't. How the hell does Paul know so much about the TARDIS?"  
"He said he wasn't Paul anymore, remember?" Russell corrected her, hefting the Doctor's legs, "I'm starting to think this is some old foe of the Doctor. He didn't call him the Doctor, he called him something else, like a nickname, what was it again?"  
"Theta Sigma," Colleen chimed in over the Doctor's right shoulder, "It's two letters of the Greek alphabet."  
"How do you know that?" Russell blinked.  
"Everyone in my family had a classical education, Russell. It was basic."  
"God Bless the American Educational System," Russell grumbled. He glanced up to make sure the jester wasn't looking, then quickly removed the sonic screwdriver from the Doctor's vest and placed it in his own breast pocket. As they were nearing the TARDIS, another costumed worker approached the group, looking worried.  
"What's going on here?" The man asked.  
"Code 32, Hal," the jester said, feeding off Paul's memories, "overexertion, we need to get this fella to the medical tent."  
"Okay, but…" Hal cocked an eyebrow, "the med tent's in the opposite direction…"  
The jester panicked. Another handful of yellow dust sent Hal into convulsions until he slowly stopped twitching on the ground, stone dead. The companions had little time to mourn, however, as they were urged on into the TARDIS.  
Once inside, the jester seemed to know his way about, flicking switches, turning knobs, and bringing a mind-numbingly complicated equation onto one of the many screens on the center console. He waved absent-mindedly towards the three companions and their burden.  
"Just park that in one of the resting rooms. The fourteenth on the left has a lovely velvet fainting couch. I'd say the Zero Room would do him good, but the stupid fool had to jettison it…"  
The companions made their way down the seemingly endless hallway as the jester suddenly had a humourous epiphany.  
"Oh wait…I MADE him jettison it…seems so long ago…haha…"  
As promised, the fourteenth door held a lovely red crushed velvet fainting couch in a room adorned with cherry wood paneling similar to the wardrobe's front door. The Doctor was laid on the couch, and no sooner had his head touched the pillow had his eyes snapped back open. His eyes darted about madly, taking in the surroundings and the three familiar, friendly, but extremely worried faces watching over him.  
"Why don't I use this room more often?" the Doctor said, almost as if that was the most important item at the moment. He sat up quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly, and grasped his head in pain.  
"Agh! Blast it!"  
"What was that, Doctor?" Javis leaned in to aid him.  
"Gallifreyan nerve agent. It enacts a small neural implosion that paralyzes a Time Lord for a short time, but it's deadly to lower life forms. We Time Lords can grow back brain matter from minimal attacks like this, but it just takes a bit and agh–!"  
He slumped back down on the couch.  
"We should try not to think too much. Give me time, and then I'll deal with him."  
Russell was suddenly reminded of their nefarious new pilot.  
"That jester! Doctor, that's not Paul, who is it?!"  
The Doctor closed his eyes, placed his hands on his abdomen, and uttered a few sentences before slipping into a healing coma.  
"It's an old enemy of mine, and he's back. It's…the Master."

Meanwhile, in the TARDIS console room, the newly corporeal Master sat adjusting the myriad of glowing, clicking, and whirring controls. The viewscreen on the console displayed a complex equation of a long-dead language, with symbols bucking, blinking, and manipulating themselves with the help of the TARDIS supercomputer. The equation seemed a sort of wonderful drug for the Master, as he sat basking in the glow of the viewscreen, eyes closed and a contented smile on his face, the stolen face of Paul the newly departed jester.  
Suddenly, a loud clattering broke his meditative bliss. He whirled around to see Colleen, now dressed in her normal peasant garb, stock still and frozen with fright next to the overturned coat rack near the exit. The Master turned to her with his usual calm malevolence.  
"Ah…are we trying to escape, my dear?" He prowled toward her.  
Colleen attempted to say something, or make some sort of noise, but nothing would come forth from her mouth. The Master's lip curled into a sneer as he moved toward her, hand seeking her slender throat. In desperation, Colleen wielded the coat rack as a pike, trying to fend off the Master's advances.  
"Hey, jackass."  
The Master turned to see Javis Nine, who aimed her patented right hook, the fist that had won many a trophy on New Earth, toward the Master's jaw. In a flash, her fist was halted by the Master's palm, and held fast. Seeing his attention was elsewhere for a split second, Colleen made a charge with the coat rack, but was deterred by a hard kick to her abdomen. She stumbled back against the wall, robbed of breath, while Javis felt the Master's fist begin to crush over her own. Russell Garamond barrelled into the console room with a roar and threw a shoulder into the Master's midsection. The two staggered back towards the wall, but the Master countered quick, twisting to one side and driving Russell's head into the door frame. With two would-be dispatchers dispatched, the Master turned to the wounded Javis.  
Picking up the coat rack, the Master raised it above his head an aimed for the kill. He was whirled around again by a short rap on the shoulder, and swiftly dealt a strike that sent him to the ground, unconscious. Standing over him, now fully healed, stood a very peeved Doctor. Javis leapt to her feet, rubbing her hand and her mouth agape.  
"Doctor?! You…you clobbered him!"  
"I was lucky," the Doctor muttered, "he wasn't expecting it. Also, I don't quite think he realizes just how weak he is in that human body."  
He smiled, suddenly, warmly. "Javis, get our noble friends into the room with that lovely velvet couch. As for him," He gestured to the currently unconscious Master, "leave him to me."  
Javis managed to heft Colleen onto her shoulders as the Doctor re-organized the coat rack. By the time she had returned for Russell, the Doctor had the Master firmly bound to a chair he had produced from another of the TARDIS's many rooms. She grunted a bit as she slung Russell about her shoulders, but she dismissed the Doctor's worried look with a grin.  
"Don't worry. Stringbean's putting on a little weight, but he's still pretty light. It's you with your food all the time, Doctor."  
"Well, you can't go to the Supernova festival of Draykon without having a customary cake or two!" the Doctor retorted, returning her grin.  
The grin faded, however, as Javis left off into the TARDIS interior and the Doctor turned his attention to his old foe. His face became hard, unforgiving, his eyes like twin chips of blue steel. He stepped forward and slapped the Master unceremoniously awake. His eyes snapped open in terror and he struggled against the ropes. The Doctor circled his captor, hands behind his back, his voice cold and interrogating.  
"Those are Gallifreyan whirl knots, Master, you'll never be able to escape. You remember my escapology skills from Academy, and you know I can tie a pretty knot. So, tell me, what exactly are you doing here?"  
The Master sat, expressionless and hateful.  
"Oh, come on now! You've always got some grand scheme, some ridiculously convoluted plan! You have to put three worlds in peril to make breakfast for pity's sake! What is it this time? Zero point energy? Stellar manipulation? Cosmic cyclones? Hm?!"  
The Master's expression did not change. He didn't even seem to blink.  
"Well then, if we can't start there, I suppose we could start with the simple fact that you're sitting here in front of me. Real, in the flesh, sort of…the mighty Master!" the Doctor's voice was cutting and condescending as he circled the chair, "When I last saw you, you were being sucked into a black hole and absorbed into the TARDIS. Now I've been in black holes, but I've never been absorbed into a trans-dimensional transportation motor."  
"You're wrong," the Master sneered, "I conquered the world, remember? Reduced you to a puppet. If it weren't for your insipid humans…"  
"Bah," the Doctor waved his hand dismissively, "that wasn't you. Wasn't proper, didn't even have a beard!"  
"The Time Lords were not acble to fully resurrect me," the Master said, only slightly ashamed. The Doctor took this information gleefully.  
"So what does that leave? How did you survive? For once I thought I'd finally seen the last of you and now you pop back in to throw nerve dust in my face and steal my ship which, by the way, I consider an egregious effrontery and some damn strong avarice. So tell me, how did it happen?"  
The Master curled his lip into a sneer, giving the jester make-up a ghastly complexion. As if he had told him everything, the Doctor suddenly moved into epiphany.  
"Wait a minute…no…you couldn't have…my word…" the Doctor slumped against the console, aghast, "You managed… to pull your essence… your consciousness… from the heart of the TARDIS. Molecule by molecule, atom by atom, tiny particle by tiny particle…you reconstructed…yourself. You managed, through sheer force of will, to reconstruct your very being in the midst of a maelstrom of energy and—"  
"Hate." The Master spat the word out like it had stung him. The Doctor turned to face him, half curious and half incredulous.  
"I beg your pardon?"  
"Hate, Doctor," The Master continued to spit out his words, "Hate has kept me alive before, and it allowed me to reconstruct my consciousness over thirteen agonizing years. Hate for the Time Lords, hate for this pitifully wasted universe, and hatred most of all, for you."  
The Doctor, who seemed like he was nearly about to be dumbstruck, regained his tongue as quick as ever.  
"Hate for me? Hate for me? You stupid bastard!" The Doctor made as if to strike his old restrained foe, but halted, "You stupid…oh!"  
He reeled with energy and pent up emotion, "Why? Why, Master, why?! You have tracked me for nearly seven hundred years now, across galaxies, through black holes, past the very fabric of time itself! At any time, ANY time, you could have simply gone on your way and left me alone and continued on whatever daft, convoluted scheme that next popped into your insidiously clever mind. You could have made the world a better place, you could have taken advantage of my mercy and your mind to create a renaissance in the universe! Yet you persisted. You continued to do evil after I had spared you countless times, you continued to engage in actions that drew my presence."  
The Doctor smiled then, a bit of a cocky smile, "But I always defeated you. Every scheme, every plan, even when death itself seemed not to stop you, I did!"  
He saw the Master twitch a bit in the chair, and seemed pleased, "A-ha, I've struck a nerve I see! You don't like losing, you don't like knowing that I'm stronger than you, better than you! It's some sort of dominance game, an alpha male struggle oh, brilliant! It's all about pride, o-ho! How deliciously ironic! Here I am, the superior and the apathetic! Yet the one who cares, the one to whom it matters…it consumes his very being, it allows him to hold back death…delicious."  
The Doctor, sensing victory, leaned back against the TARDIS console and enjoyed a licorice Scottie from his vest pocket. As he chewed with great relish, he continued.  
"So here we are, yet again. But I'm the one with the facial hair this time, aren't I? Strange. And here you are, looking like some daft clown in sparkling pantaloons oh, this is just too beautiful!"  
The more the Master sneered, the more the Doctor jeered, his mouth obnoxiously full of licorice.  
"So we're back in good ol' San Fran, back where we last…tangled. I suppose it was easy for you to draw yourself out in here, your temporal fingerprints are all over the place! And you're using the old human possession trick again, eh? Brilliant, except of course the body decays after a while. Oh, and you keep picking such prats to possess, why is that? Ambulance driver, Pantalooned jester…why don't you try possessing someone interesting like…oh, I don't know, Tom Baker?"  
The Master continued to scowl, but withheld information further.  
"Oh, you're being all devious again I see. Most likely formulating a plan even as we speak!" He leaned in closely, licorice breath emanating from his wide, manic smile, "But you're going to lose, just like always. That's just your lot in life, isn't it?" he began to prod the Master hard in the chest, "to be the nefarious schemer, the one with all the grandiose dreams of world domination and power forever reaching?"  
"As opposed to a restrospective Neo-Dandy who holds up the idyllic, idealistic maxims of a long dead and impotent race?" The Master's voice was cold, but a knowing smirk began to linger on the painted lips.  
"Oh, there it is! There it is!" The Doctor stopped jabbing and began pointing, "that bombast, that sheer oily malevolence, something must be falling into place into your grand scheme! But what?"  
The Doctor whirled around and began studying the TARDIS screen with its endless calculations.  
"An equation? Hm, well let's see…it's not Skasis. I've seen Skasis and this is not Skasis." He leaned in closer, "In fact, it's written in old Gallifreyan." He turned to face the Master, "Someone feeling nostalgic?"  
"Not quite, Doctor," The Master smirked, beginning to wriggle out of his bonds, "it's written in Gallifreyan because it…is Gallifreyan."  
The Doctor's eyes widened, and his voice suddenly lost all of its happiness.  
"No…no! It can't be! It can't–!"  
He was silenced by a chair being crashed over his back, knocking him senseless. The Master stood triumphantly over his ancient fallen foe.  
"Thirteen years is a long time to ponder an equation, Doctor," he smiled wickedly, "Next stop: Gallifrey."

When Russell awoke, he found he was trapped.  
Bound.  
Unable to move.  
As much as he struggled, he found he couldn't move his arms. His legs still seemed to be working but, as he was lain on the now-familiar crushed velvet fainting couch, he couldn't seem to sit up. A weight was tied to him, not crushingly heavy, but just enough to make anything but feeble wiggling a possibility.  
Suddenly, refreshingly, and somewhat puzzlingly, Russell heard a familiar voice.  
"Good luck, Skinny."  
Javis. She was leaning against the wood paneled wall, enjoying a beer from a matching wood paneled refrigerator. She allowed herself a smug smile as Russell's eyes began to wander.  
"What–" he began.  
"I tried pulling her off of you, but she's on there like a limpet. Though it's far outside her temperament to say so, I think little Colleen has taken a shine to you."  
It was at this time Russell finally noticed that the weight tying him down was breathing. Indeed, it was the gentle Colleen, who had, during the process of regaining consciousness, attached herself to Russell in a vicelike grip. She seemed asleep now, perhaps recouperating, perhaps hoping the hour's past events had been a bad dream. Either way, Russell had to wake her. He prodded her gently in the ribs, and she began to stir. Her eyes fluttered, then snapped open, and suddenly realized the situation she was in. Embarassed, she flung herself into the corner of the room, avoiding all gazes.  
Javis finished her beer. "What a weird little thing she is, eh Skinny? Come on, let's go see what the Doctor's up to."  
"But…she…what…" Russell stammered.  
Javis patted Colleen on the head, the olive skin of her hand making an odd contrast with her fiery red hair. "She'll be fine, don't worry. She's just gotta…readjust. Let's leave her to it, eh?"  
Wordlessly, Russell agreed and left Colleen alone in the room. Ever since his divorce, Russell had thrown himself into his work. He hadn't even thought of another woman, let alone one who was technically one hundred years his elder. However, he had to admit, she was awfully cute…  
"Doctor!"  
Javis' anguished cry snapped Russell out of his rumination and into the console room of the TARDIS, where the Doctor lay prone among the scattered bits of chair and rope the Master had left behind. Javis knelt beside him, examining. Russell, now fully back into the swing of things, shooed her away.  
"Let me have a look, Javis, Let me see! You see if you can find our friend."  
Javis cracked her knuckles threateningly and headed down a corridor, muttering something about putting her fist in an unpleasant place. Russell, now free of distrations, administered to the Doctor.  
"No broken bones, no lacerations," he turned the Doctor over and placed his head on the chest. "Normal pulse…I guess, for two hearts…"  
In a flash, the Doctor rocketed into a sitting position, knocking Russell's head painfully back into the console. With a roar the Doctor leapt to his feet and began flittering his fingers all over the console's many switches, knobs, and buttons.  
"Oh! OH! That…that…pusillanimous wretch! That pompous, antediluvian poltroon! The sheer avarice, the cowardly AVARICE! Oh…OH!"  
Russell wasn't sure what to say. He had only known the Doctor for a short time, but this was a rage he had never seen before. Rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head, Russell ventured conversation.  
"Um…Doctor?"  
The Doctor paid him little heed, still fuming. "Striking from behind, and a fellow Time Lord! What a dastardly, craven excuse for a creature!"  
Pressing a last sequence of buttons, he finally clocked the fact that someone else was in the room, and had addressed him. He turned to Russell, exhaled deeply, and nodded.  
"Thank you, Mr. Garamond. I'm all right. Letting him get the best of me like that…I must be getting foolish in my old age. How is everyone else?"  
"Fine, Doctor. Colleen's… resting and Javis went looking for the Master."  
"Where?"  
"In the TARDIS."  
"Well, you'd better call her back. There's no more need for the Master to be using the TARDIS, MY TARDIS anymore. It has fulfilled his goals."  
"Goals?"  
"Every TARDIS comes with a meticulous set of locks and codes. Codes for dematerialisation, codes for interstellar travel, codes for temporal excursion… and locks to prevent illegal use of each." He rounded the console and peered at a flatscreen, which was still cycling through the mysterious equation. "The Master must have spent years trapped within the TARDIS overriding just one lock. It was all he thought about, it…kept him from going mad…"  
Russell had just finished summoning Javis and Colleen through the TARDIS intercom. "Which lock did he break?"  
"As a rule, a TARDIS is prohibited from travelling into the past of Gallifrey, our own home planet. As we pioneered time-flight, the paradoxes and problems present in entering Gallifrey's own past would be cataclysmic. Before now, there has only been one account of a TARDIS breaking that code which, I say with great modesty, involved me. However, I did look quite different back then…"  
At that moment, Javis and Colleen came bounding back in. They had apparently made a brief stop, as they were back in their normal suit and dress, respectively. Javis tossed Russell a change of clothes as they entered.  
"Lose the pantaloons, Stringbean. They ain't you."  
Russell, taking great pains as to not upset Colleen, retreated into a fairly shrouded corner of the console room to change quickly.  
Javis turned to the Doctor, "Are you–?"  
"Yes, yes, I'm fine! I'm more worried about the Master, and what he's planning to do in the Old Time."  
"Old Time?" Colleen seemed puzzled.  
"When Time Lords were in their infancy, when the idea of time travel was a glimmer on the horizon, rushing to meet the present. The old order had been overthrown, and the Triumvirate ushered in the time of the Time Lords. The Master has thought this out well, there will be such rejoicing and newfound naivete that no one will notice if he were to, say, install himself as ruler. Yes, I'm sure that's what he wants…Omega is dead…Rassilon is relatively unguarded…and…the Other…well…he is what he will be."  
The Doctor began to gaze again at the equation on the flatscreen, seemingly lost in the mathematical rigamarole. His eyes clouded over with the mists of time, into a different time, a different place…a different life…  
"Doctor, what are you talking about? You're not making sense!" Javis bellowed. Her shout snapped the Doctor back to the present. Siezing his brown tweed Windsor from the floor, he slapped it on his head, dusted himself down, and headed for the door, talking all the way.  
"The Master must have some plan for the Old Time, some plan to retroactively take control of Gallifrey. With this he could destroy me, before I ever became me, he could fundamentally alter…everything…"  
"But what of the Reapers?" Russell asked, causing Colleen to shudder, "Wouldn't they be able to sterilize any evil the Master does?"  
The Doctor stopped at the door. "The Time Lords kept the Reapers at bay in the old days, no doubt the Master has a plan for them to. Always planning, that one, always so…organized. No wonder he got the better grades.  
Anyway! We've wasted far too much time! We must find the Master and stop him, before it's too late!"  
With that, he threw open the doors and stepped outside. Inhaling deeply, his face lit into a smile. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked into a burnt orange sky."  
"Gallifrey. Home. I never thought I'd be so happy to see it."  
The rest of the companions clamored out of the TARDIS to a wondrous sight. Silver-leaved trees lined a riverwalk culminating in a sky that looked to be locked in perpetual sunset. People were milling here and there, their outfits alien, but functional. All in all, the place seemed very much like earth, with just a few disorienting alien touches. When the initial wonderment died down, the four set off down the path, the Doctor in the lead. Colleen tugged on Russell's sleeve as they passed what appeared to be a boutique. She still seemed bashful, but almost relieved.  
"Lookit! Sure don't those jackets look like one me ol' Da had!"  
"You are correct, Colleen." The Doctor shouted back, "Gallifreyans were great lovers of Victorianism, for various reasons…"  
Russell seemed very askew. The lovely environment, the friendly people, the lady tugging his sleeve, it all seemed very much like a holiday. He had to constantly remind himself that they were in the midst of halting the plans of a dangerous megalomaniacal demagogue.  
"Just a bit further, now, we shall soon be there, and– oh! I say! Of all the people! Well, I suppose with the Time Laws still in place it couldn't hurt to to a bit of temporal dallying…I say, sir! May I ask you a question?"  
A strange man, standing stock still in the middle of a bustling city street, turned to greet them. He was dressed in a black frock coat, cream coloured vest, patterned pants, and sensible black shoes. In his hand he carried a very distinguied walking stick and on his face he carried an irascible, yet genuine countenance.  
The man gave a curtly elegant salute as the four approached. The Doctor grinned like a jackal and shook hands cautiously, as if testing something. Satisfied with the result, he began introducing his companions. Russell, who was now thoroughly confused as to whether this was a holiday or a heroic mission, spoke up rather rudely in the middle of it all.  
"Doctor, What's the deal?! Why are we standing in a city square chatting up Bill Nighy's well-dressed brother? Who is this guy?"  
"This…guy…as you so brashly expounded…is me!"  
Russell nearly swooned. He expected to see ducks piloting dirigibles soon, as this was all becoming far too much.  
"You?" Javis cocked an eyebrow?  
"The Original," The man quipped in short, precise speech, "The first, the advent, the genuine article, hm?" He cracked a short smile and turned back to the Doctor, "so, what does that make you then?"  
"Eleven." The Doctor said, a bit sheepishly.  
"Eleven?!" The Man barked, "My my…what have I done to myself?"  
"You'll find out soon enough," The Doctor winked. Both exchanged a polite chuckle. Javis, however, was not so amused.  
"DOCTOR!" she grumbled, jabbing him in the ribs.  
The Doctor jumped, embarassed, "oh! Right, right, sorry. Nostalgia, it's a killer. Well, my polite precursor, we are wondering if you have encountered a little man wearing a clown costume tearing through the city recently."  
"Oh yes, that addle-pated ninny!" The First Doctor shook his head, "I knew something was off, he kept asking such simple questions like 'where am I?' 'where are the Looms?' 'where are the Gardens?' now it makes sense…"  
"Looms? Gardens?" The Doctor wheeled to the east, "I should have known! Come on, everyone!"  
And, with a twirl of his moustache, the four set off again, following a hasty goodbye. The First Doctor chuckled and shook his head, walking off to the north.  
"A dandy and a clown…"

The Doctor had stepped up into a jog, his tan overcoat billowing behind him in a brisk autumn breeze. Silver leaves scattered along the riverwalk as they trotted eastward.  
"Gardens? Looms? What does it all mean Doctor?" Russell shouted, amazed once again at his inability to keep up with the stocky Doctor.  
"It means, Mr. Garamond, that–"  
"It means that I will live again."  
The four halted short as they saw the Master, still in the ridiculous guise of the San Franciscan fool, standing before a Loom.  
"Doctor, what's he going to do?" Russell asked, his eyes fixed on the Master.  
"The Time Lords were rendered sterile as a curse from the tyrant that was overthrown. As such, we developed the Looms to weave new Time Lords out of the genetic material of the old. The Master is going to give himself a new body, thirteen new lives…and infinity left to hate."  
The Doctor turned to the Master, who was still poised before a Loom. "But you can't do it, can you? You didn't think about it until now, but you're in a human body. If you cast yourself into the Loom like this you'll be half-human. You can't do that, you won't let yourself do that, you won't allow yourself to be a simpering half-breed."  
"I don't know, it couldn't be all that bad…" The Master sneered, "I seem to remember a retinal pattern, in San Francisco, all those years ago…"  
"That's enough, Master! Answer me! Can you live the life of a half human? Can you continue to hate and plot and scheme and destroy with a body that is humane? Will you be able to keep yourself from tearing your own body apart, regeneration after regeneration, as your human cells revolt against your pure evil?"  
"You are right, Doctor, as always." The Master let his body slump slightly, "I cannot live a cursed life like that. I cannot live…like you."  
A gasp emitted from the Doctor's companions at this revelation. As the Doctor turned to the sound, the Master, sensing his opportunity, turned to the Loom. Summoning up forces deep inside him, he expectorated a yellow slime into the Loom. Lightning fast, the body of the poor human withered and fell to the ground, like a vacated husk. The fools makeup still appeared on the empty face, leaving a grisly visage and a sad remembrance. The man inside had long since died, and the Master was beginning a life anew.  
The Loom began to hum and glow with bright light. The Doctor could only watch on in grim fascination as the Master, his greatest enemy, was re-born before his eyes. The product stepping out from the loom was tall, well-muscled, with smooth, black hair and a sinister goatee to match. As the new Master breathed his first new breath. He found it cut short by a sonic screwdriver placed at his throat. The Doctor, though looking up at his old foe, was not the smaller of the two in resolve.  
"No more, Master." The Doctor's voice was like a steel pike, "I don't know what your plan is, but it ends here. With a flick of my finger, I can vibrate your windpipe into collapsing."  
"Can you, Doctor?" The Master spoke his first new words, with a deep and urbane voice, "can you kill me? You know as well as I do what will happen to the Time Lords! You know what happens all too well…the Lonely God…the eternal wanderer. Always alone, the last of his kind…or is he?"  
The Master tried out his new teeth, smiling darkly. "So do it. Kill me. Crush my windpipe. Become alone once more. Wander forever as the only one left. Kill me, and kill the future. Kill the Time Lords. I am the last of the purebloods, I spent only my essence into the Loom." He turned back to face the device, "And what Loom was it? A Loom of the house of Lungbarrow. We are now cousins, Doctor. We are family. The last two of Lungbarrow, the last two of existence. Can you kill me now? Could you…ever…kill me?"  
The Doctor's gaze was still icy blue, but his sonic screwdriver never glowed the color to match. He reposited it into his vest, then hastily doffed his overcoat, along with his tweed jacket. He placed the former as a crude kilt around the Master's midsection, and the latter about his shoulders. Without saying a word, he took his old enemy's shoulder and lead him down the lane, secretly, to the Gardens.  
Fully grown, new and ready, sat TARDISes. The Doctor, still caustically silent, pushed the Master towards the nearest one. The Master, once again a full Time Lord, placed his hand on the glowing, oblong crystalline structure. It hummed appreciatively, and opened. The Master stepped inside, looking about, then chuckled.  
"Hm. A Model 39. Even older than yours. Ironic."  
The Doctor turned from him, still silent, and left. His companions followed in his wake, as the Master's new TARDIS made that familiar "vworp" noise and dematerialised. Russell thought he saw, ever so slighty as it disappeared, the Master's TARDIS transform into a noble statue of the Doctor before it blinked out of sight.  
In a stony silence, the four companions found their way back to the Doctor's TARDIS. Shooing away curious Gallifreyans, who had never before seen a 1960s Police Box, they entered. Javis and Colleen mumbled something about fixing tea and headed off down a corridor. Javis patted Russell reassuringly and Colleen gave him a pleading look before they left, as if instructing Russell what it was he had to do. The Doctor flipped a few switches with malaise, dematerialised the TARDIS, and began picking up the smashed pieces of chair from what seemed like so long ago.  
Russell shattered the silence like a hammer to a pane of glass.  
"Doctor?"  
The Doctor looked up, his face impossible to read, but willing Russell to continue.  
"Are you…all right?"  
The Doctor picked up another splinter, opened a panel under the main console, produced a rubbish bin, and tossed the lot. He looked up at Russell, his blue eyes full of pain. With a shuddering sigh, the Doctor leaned against the console.  
"I just allowed my greatest enemy, a renegade Time Lord, a wholly evil creature, to escape in a new TARDIS. He will return, no doubt, to place the universe in peril. And I will be ready. I have always defeated him, I will always defeat him, because–"  
"You're half human?" Russell interjected clumsily.  
"Well, I hadn't had a reason, but…yes. That will work." He turned around a flipped another switch, followed by a moan from the TARDIS, as if it was consoling the Doctor.  
"His plan was never to rule Gallifrey, or to rule anything at this point and time. His plan was merely for life, life I gave him. I have endangered the universe, all of time and space…but yet I have now perpetuated its greatest species. I have unleashed an infinite amount of new terror onto the cosmos, but I am no longer alone. I have signed the death warrant of many, yet I have helped myself. I have done horrible, yet I have also done great." He sighed again and turned to Russell.  
"I will be all right, Mr. Garamond, I promise you that. However…" He looked cautiously left and right, then allowed a quick wink and a small smile, "I hope you will not begrudge me a spot of brandy in my tea."  
"Doctor, I wouldn't begrudge you the whole bottle."

Russell was having a devil of a time trying to figure out the TARDIS. In the days following the return of the Master, he had spent most of his time pouring over the strage machine with its hexagonal console, pulsating time rotor, and myriad of buttons, switches, and dials. Try as he might, however, he just couldn't seem to find out how it worked. It was one one of these days that he sat, gazing at the glow from one of the integrated flatscreens, that the Doctor walked into the console room.

It was a very different, yet very much the same, Doctor.  
He still looked the same, same stocky build, same brisk, rapid steps, but outside of basic build and presence there was very little the same. Replacing his brown tweed jacket and tan trousers were gray pants and a richly coloured camelhair coat. Gone was his burgundy shirt and sandy vest, replaced instead by a shirt of brilliant ocean blue, striped with white, and a slate gray pullover. The shirt had a white collar and white french cuffs, which he fastened with square golden cufflinks to match his new jacket. On his feet, the casual brown trainers were replaced with a smart pair of two-tone shoes, no doubt taken from a spare tuxedo in the TARDIS and buffed to a brilliant shine. All in all, this was a bolder choice of color, but the boldest choice happened around the head and face.  
The Doctor's hair, which had been previously kept fairly short, manicured and side parted, was now allowed to be without gel or pomade, shaggier, and parted in the middle. The usual brown tweed hat had been retired after a long service, the head suddenly bare. His face, which had for sported a distinctive flourishing moustache and Van Dyke combination, now stood bare, clean, and youthful. His bright blue eyes, much to the contrary, seemed to have more age and concern in them than ever before. In one hand, the Doctor held a golden pocketwatch, and in the other, a wooden walking stick, topped with an iridescent jewel and coordinated to his new jacket. He placed the watch into his pocket, snapped up his walking stick, and joined Russell at the console. He took on a small smile, at once both sad and comfortable, and sighed. Russell stepped away from the console.  
"Doctor…" he began.  
The Doctor seemed to wave the awkwardness away with his free hand, his smile growing larger.  
"You've…changed…" Russell said.  
"Well, not as much as I could have, Mr. Garamond…regeneration and all…but yes, I felt it was time for a… change."  
"Was it because of the Master?"  
"Partly," the Doctor said, rubbing his newly bare face, "the facial hair was always his racket, I'd hate to intrude. But honestly…I wanted something with a bit more…color and…" he ruffled his hair happily, "a bit more freedom. You see, Mr. Garamond, I'm feeling a little… brighter now. I'm no longer the last of my race, and because of that I will now have a mighty purpose ahead of me to thwart the Master at all turns. However, I could not do it without my companions and, if I may be so bold, I think I have found a good crew."  
Russell looked away, embarassed. He was just a 21st century sawbones, probably a butcher to the Time Lords. Yet he had to admit, he had started to feel a new purpose as well.  
"I feel confident to fight the evils that await us, I feel that my outlook is… sunny now, for the first time in a long time. I feel confident in my age, and what I have accomplished in so short a time."  
Short a time indeed, thought Russell.  
"I feel like…things are going well and, as such, I felt my old wardrobe simply didn't mimic those sentiments. And penultimately, I gave my jacket and overcoat to the Master, so it almost became necessary, really. Although, I must say, I really don't mind, although I do miss the vest…" he turned to Russell, "do me a favor, Mr. Garamond, take my vest. It'd do well for you and, if I recall," he added with a wink, "you seem to already have an affinity for it.  
Russell chuckled, remembering a night at the hospital that seemed aeons ago and, who knows, probably was. "What about a hat? You seemed to partial to that old one." Russell said, pointing at the Doctor's new bare scalp.  
"That's the bother of it! I have nearly infinite space inside this old police box, and a wardrobe befitting. Yet in all of that, there wasn't a single hat to match this ensemble. By the time I noticed, I had become so enamored that I dared not change to fit something as a hat, so I decided to go sans chapeau for a while. Who knows, perhaps I'll find one on my travels…Farlonken has some fabulous tailors, and Jevverdine is known for their fabrics…they're not too far apart, really…"  
"Or maybe," Javis said, entering the console room with Colleen close by, "we could find one for you as a present. Late birthday, or early Christmas?"  
"Oh, Christmas!" The Doctor's face suddenly became alight, "Splendid time, really! The egg nog, the roast goose, the carol singers…" he suddenly halted, and momentarily glanced off into nothingness, "carol singers…yes. That sounds lovely." He turned back to face his companions, "I say, what would you say to a group of carol singers unlike anything else you've ever heard? Unlike…anything else on earth?"  
The three companions nodded dumbly. When the Doctor asked questions like this, it wasn't so much a yes or a no, as it was a precaution of things to come.  
"Brilliant! Off we go then! Mr. Garamond, to your vest, Ladies, to your leisure, and I…to my TARDIS."  
All three companions vacated the premises, and the Doctor put his newly tousled head on the console. He thought of the Master inside the TARDIS, and wondered if some of the misadventures, the danger, the miscalculations of the machine…had in fact been him manipulating the TARDIS. He always was plotting, after all…but now he felt as if he owed something to his ship, for allowing such evil to permeate it for so long. Perhaps, an apology.  
"Never again. I promise you, my dear, never again." He patted the console affectionately, checked that no one had seen it, then began flicking switches, pressing buttons, and otherwise. With a twirl of his new walking stick, he reached far across the console and hit one final button. The ship stopped and changed track, humming appreciatively.  
"Yes, my dear. I know you always wanted to see Kenos. Consider it a present, from one old fogey to another. Happy belated birthday."  
And the two ancient time travellers carried on through the time vortex, one with the other, together forever, for one thousand years and beyond.


End file.
